


All my instincts, they return

by desertspring09



Series: In Your Eyes [2]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Back rubs, F/M, First Kiss, Massages, the interns were definitely right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desertspring09/pseuds/desertspring09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm sorry. Richard, if I crossed a line--” Her face was burning. </p><p>“You didn't,” he said, his voice uneven as he struggled to maintain composure. “I stopped you because I might. Cross a line, that is."</p><p>"Richard,” she said, forcing him to acknowledge her. “I want you to show me what that would look like.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All my instincts, they return

On a drizzly night in late Summer, the midnight oil was burning at PNWS. The phones were long silent, and the eternally-chattering interns had vanished, blanketing the halls of the station in a solemn hush and the muted gray glow of the security lights. One room remained illuminated: the conference room, which boasted a large oval table big enough for at least a dozen people. But only three remained, tucked around it in mismatched, donated chairs. It would surprise no one to say who they were.

Nic's brows furrowed as he made precise black markings on a large map of the Pacific Northwest, as though trying to divine a pattern in its lush green foliage. Alex was busy sorting through a thick sheaf of folders, each one practically bursting with photocopied pages culled from long-closed mental health institutions. Fluorescent yellow highlighter in hand, she searched for anyone who may have known the mysterious E. Hausdorff. Further down the table, Dr. Strand pored over thick books with dusty spines-- priceless loans from his enigmatic contact-- looking for sigils related to the Cult of Tiamat. They had each staked claim on their own little kingdoms, all working comfortably in near silence. The only sounds were the turning of pages and the restless tapping of Alex's marker on the cheap, lacquered tabletop.

Every so often,  someone would venture wearily to the kitchenette in search of caffeine-- lifeblood to the late-night researcher. Nic's preference was Coke, always cold and straight from the can. Alex was a traditionalist. She liked coffee. Usually hot, although she'd been treasuring her small stash of cold brew in the late summer heat. Strand liked tea. Usually black tea. One sugar, no cream, no exceptions.

“Alright, you guys, I think I have to jet,” Nic said, finally. As he stood, stretching his back, two audible pops reverberated in the space. “I have to be back in early tomorrow-- uh, today-- to do some editing with Paul.”

“Yeah, these names are all starting to blur together for me, so I'm not going to be very far behind you,” answered Alex as she broke into a yawn.

Strand looked up from his book a bit owlishly. His hair stuck up in a curious cowlick, the result of resting his head in one hand as he read. It made him look younger somehow. Alex decided she liked it.

“I hadn't realized it was so late,” he said, his voice scratchy from disuse.

“Yeah, it's almost twelve thirty,” Nic answered, carefully folding his map and tucking it into a folder. “We've been really outdoing ourselves lately.”

“This is nothing,” Alex joked. “You should see his basement.” She jerked a thumb in Strand's direction. “I bet he goes home and just keeps on at it. The Energizer bunny of paranormal research.”

Strand shrugged noncommittally, but she knew she was right.

“Alex, will you lock up?” Nic asked, hopefully.

“Of course. Have a good night. Don't let Amalia keep you up too late,” she smiled, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Nic said nothing for a moment, then simply responded to her by lifting _his_ eyebrows and glancing pointedly in the direction of the good Doctor, who was obliviously stacking the most fragile of his books in a tidy pile.

Alex rolled her eyes, as if to say _oh, not you, too_. She'd caught wind that some of the interns had begun to whisper about her closeness with Strand, implying that something might be afoot-- something more salacious than mere research.

And alas, one near-kiss in a California hotel suite aside, nothing ever had. To tell the truth, Alex wasn't quite sure if she was happy that they still maintained a measure of professional distance, or if she was bitterly disappointed that they hadn't. She changed her mind on that point several times in any given day. Strand had the curious quality where he could infuriate her at lunchtime, but by dinner, she only wanted to be in his good graces. 

“Good night, Dr. Strand,” called Nic.

“Good night, Nic,” Strand answered, distractedly. “I'll see you later in the week.”

“Sure thing.” And with that, Nic turned for the door. A few moments later, a double beep echoed through the empty halls as the door to the office opened, then heavily shut behind him.

Strand finished with his pile, then set to work on removing his tie. He grimaced as he lifted it over his head, a sharp intake of pained breath accompanying the motion.

“Oh no.” Alex said, concerned. “What happened? Did you hurt yourself?”

“It's nothing, really,” he answered, his voice slightly clipped. “I was moving some of my father's boxes earlier today, looking for a particular journal. I think I might have pulled something.” He experimentally moved his head from one side to the other, frowning. “I should be fine in a few days.”

Alex rose from her chair. “Let me take a look at it,” she said, and moved to stand behind him.

“I beg your pardon?” There was something in his tone that amused her. He sounded almost startled, and maybe a touch scandalized. It wasn't very often that anything took Richard Strand by surprise.

“My mom was a massage therapist,” she said, keeping her voice casual. “She taught me a thing or two about bodywork. How to loosen knots, speed recovery. That kind of thing.”

“Alex, I don't.... I don't know if--” he began to protest, but her slim fingers had already found their way to his shoulders. With a little light pressure, she pushed into the muscle there with her fingertips. His dissent was cut short by another sharp hiss of breath as he unexpectedly tensed.

“Is that okay?” she asked, her fingers frozen against the slightly-rumpled cotton of his dress shirt. “Do you want me to stop?” She hoped his keen ears would not detect the hint of disappointment that crept into her voice at the prospect.

He sighed. “No, of course not,” he said, more gently. “You may proceed.”

“It might help a little if you relaxed some,” she chided. “You stiffened up the moment I touched you. Just breathe. Like, try to enjoy something for once.”

“I shall endeavor to relax,” he answered stiffly, and just a little snarkily.

But he did not relax. The sensation of her touching him was overall too new, too novel, for him to be able to effectively communicate compliance to the tightened muscles of his back.

Alex decided on a different approach. “So, did you find anything tonight? Anything useful about the Tiamat sigil?”

Strand closed his eyes, letting the arcane symbols play out across the backs of his eyelids. It was a fairly rare gift. Once he read something-- from train schedules to the most insignificant of footnotes-- it stayed with him, able to be recalled with just a little effort. He drew in a breath, then let it out slowly.

“Possibly. I did learn that symbols associated with the Sumerian pantheon were just as frequently used for binding as they were for invocation. It could be that Luciternica was using them to trap something inside their machines.”

“Like the Ghostbusters?” Alex asked, a little amused.

“I don't follow.”

“You know, the Ghostbusters. They'd suck up the ghosts in their little backpacks, and then transfer them to this big Ecto Containment Unit back at the firehouse. Once the ghosts were in there, they couldn't get out until someone let them go.” She chuckled. “You really don't know about the Ghostbusters?”

He ignored her latest poke at his total lack of pop culture awareness. “I see. Well, yes. Similar to that, only once they're in the box, they stay in the box permanently.” He paused. “Ecto Containment Unit? _Really?"_

"It does sound pretty silly, huh?" An exhausted giggle escaped Alex's lips. “Hey. What if Warren isn't the Advocate after all? What if he's just a real-life Ghostbuster?”

“Now that's just nonsense, even by your standards,” Strand answered, but she could hear the edges of a smile in his voice.

And just like that, her plan had worked. His shoulders were no longer as stiff-- they'd gone softer and more pliable beneath her hands as his attention focused elsewhere. She pressed a thumb into the sore spot, beginning to work directly on the knot she'd uncovered.

Strand gasped, a deep, grateful exhalation. It almost edged on a moan, and Alex felt her stomach somersault. She thought back to his warm breath against the shell of her ear that breezy night in California, and a rush of pleasure shot through her, warming her cheeks.

“How am I doing? Would you like more pressure?” she asked, now squeezing in shorter pulsing motions upwards. She pressed deeply, steadily into the knot until she felt the tension begin to uncoil beneath her fingers, then worked in long, steady strokes to disperse it. She used her fingers to slide down towards his clavicle, frustrated with the barrier that his shirt presented. She would be much more effective with no such impediment.

“Mmmn-mmm,” he said, subtly nodding no. He couldn't think of what to say, and at this point, he was fairly certain that anything that he'd be able to get out would emerge incoherently. After all, it was taking all of his self-control to keep his non-verbal reactions in check. “That's perfect,” he finally said, deciding a two word response wouldn't be too impossible to manage.

She worked her way up towards his neck, to the place where she could slip her fingers beneath his loosened collar. His skin was warm, nearly feverish beneath her hands, and she began to knead there.

The nape of his neck was exquisitely sensitive. He knew that for decency's sake, it would be best to thank her and move on, but he was too greedy for more to tell her to stop. He had melted into her hands, utterly.

Alex continued to work, relishing the furtive pleasure of skin to skin contact. The sound of his sighs-- deep and breathy-- sounded downright filthy to her ears. She knew that they'd passed the allowable time for a friendly shoulder rub, but she wasn't ready to end it. Not quite yet.

Reluctantly, she lightened her touch, smoothing her palms broadly over the planes of his shoulders. She resisted the urge to venture higher, although the now whisper-soft exhalations sorely tempted her to.

“How's that feel?” she asked, as her fingers slowed.

“Quite... quite wonderful. Thank you.” He blinked. Richard couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him. He'd abandoned the concept of casual relationships years ago. Relationships, however informal, always proved to be risky in one way or another, and not always to him alone.

He knew that he should be cautious here. That this-- this _feeling_ \-- that had been growing was tinder that only needed the slightest of sparks to ignite, and now was not the time for a wildfire. And yet. Her fingers on his neck--he wanted more of that, he was certain. 

His positive response emboldened Alex. She cupped the back of his head in the palm of one hand, running the the fingertips of her other through the short, greying hairs. Moving higher, she lightly scraped her nails along his scalp, and felt a tiny shiver run through him at the touch.

 _Too much,_ he thought, panic rising. _Too risky._

“Alex,” he said, his voice slightly strangled. “Stop.”

She immediately froze, abruptly pulling her hands away as though he were too hot to touch. A flood of humiliation suffused her. She'd overstepped.

“I'm sorry. Richard, if I crossed a line--” Her face was burning. She could tell it was bright red, and prayed fervently that he did not turn around. But he did, swiveling easily in his borrowed chair, and she found herself unable to finish her words. Her stomach prickled with sickly yellow adrenaline.

The look on his face-- it was not reproach. She knew what that looked like on him. She couldn't place it this new, puzzling expression.

“You didn't,” he said, his voice uneven as he struggled to maintain composure. “I stopped you because I might. Cross a line, that is.”

Alex was still paralyzed, her thoughts racing. Had she heard him correctly? Her heart was beating wildly, almost painfully, in her chest. She felt the shock of anticipation, of possibility. She also felt like she would be sick.

“I don't understand,” she managed, after a moment. “ _You_ might cross a line?” She held her breath, motionless as uncertainty and hope both gripped her. The conversation was a tightrope walk, and she was unsure of how to proceed. Hovering over a chasm, any misstep would bring her crashing down.

“Yes.” His voice sounded like he was reassuring himself. “That I might take advantage.”

He looked up at her, finally able to meet her eyes. Her face was bathed in worry, her brows raised in concern. Shame shot through him like an arrow. He had done this. He didn't know how to fix it.

“Taking advantage-- what would that look like?” she asked. _What are you really frightened of?_

He swallowed. What could he possibly say? How could he tell her of the times where he'd resisted the urge to give in, to pin her against a wall and show her how he felt with his lips, tongue, teeth? Just the thought of it caused him to harden, and he dropped his gaze.

"Richard,” she said, forcing him to acknowledge her. “I want you to show me what that would look like.” Her voice was quiet, but assertive. Defiance tinged its edges-- shades of the woman that had emerged in the past few months. “Please.”

He searched her face, the opportunity of the moment unspoken in the air between them.

Finally he lifted his hand, extending it to her. “Come here.”

She stepped forward to grasp it, and he pulled her down to him. Her petite frame settled easily into his lap. He brushed a strand of brown hair from her eyes, and drew her in. Her mouth met his, the first kiss nearly chaste. She tasted like vanilla mint lip balm and the slightest tinge of tannic coffee.  
  
_It was happening._ He had spent so much effort actively avoiding this scenario that even as it unfolded, he was having trouble believing it was actually occuring. It was a little like having an out of body experience.   
  
She pressed her palms against his chest and sucked at his bottom lip, deepening the kiss. His grip on her tightened as he raised one hand to tangle in her hair. Excitement surged through him, pushing away the anxiety that had been there just moments before. And then he felt the dam give way. 

They kissed feverishly-- artlessly, like teenagers, their tongues sliding together. Then she strayed lower, nipping slightly at the stubble of his jawline, as he cupped her hip beneath the hem of her shirt with his free hand. He was now completely hard beneath her, and it took every bit of control he could muster to not roll his hips upward for more friction. Alex could feel his erection, and helpfully ground her ass down against him, wrenching a deep moan from his lips. At the sound of it, a wave of arousal washed through her, and she felt wetness between her thighs.  

“Oh god,” he said. “You're merciless.”

“But you don't believe in god,” she teased, her fingers toying with the buttons on his shirt as she descended for another kiss. She began to undo them as she searched for more skin to touch.

She'd managed two when his hand closed over hers. Startled, she pulled her lips from his to look at him. “What's wrong?” she asked. “You don't want this?”

“I do,” he said, squeezing her hand, his blue eyes bright. “You have no idea how much I do, Alex.”

“Then why?” She hoped the sting of rejection was not evident in her expression.

“I just need to go slowly. It's been... quite some time for me, is all.” _I need to make sure you'll be safe,_ he wanted to say.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Do you want to stop?”

He looked down at her, a wolfish grin returning to his lips. “No. Definitely not.”

Relieved, she smiled back at him. “But kissing is okay. For now, I mean?”

He claimed her mouth again. It was all the response she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I began this before 2x10, and got completely Jossed. Ah well. Let's just pretend this takes place between 2x09 and 2x10. Which might put the rest of the series squarely into AU territory, but that's the ever-present danger when you're writing about a currently-airing show.


End file.
